Birthday
by Twilight Cabaret
Summary: Happy Birthday, Twistedmaniac!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Happy Birthday to my wonderfully amazing best friend and beta, Twistedmaniac. Here's your other present. Please, please, PLEASE, review. It really does keep me fueled. Thanks.

His head dangled limply, almost as if severed at the pale, icy neck, blood pounding in his temples and echoing through his ears. A thin stream of crimson trickled out from his ear, and matching streams bled from his nose and mouth. He took a gasping breath, the air rushing in with a wet noise, and shuddering back out again, slowly and carefully. His chest shook and trembled, as if every breath brought him closer to his final one. And, he thought, it probably did. His black hair soaked in blood and still dangling in his eyes, he raised his head just enough to eye his captor. A face from his youth he knew well. Pulling at his wrists, he struggled against the chain that suspended him from the ceiling and accomplished nothing but making himself sway like a macabre marionette in a child's theatre.  
"Hello, Potter. It's about time you woke." Malfoy drawled, pacing a neat rhythm around the circumference of Harry's aura, keeping the perfect distance from his captive, yet allowing his perversion to encroach upon the black-haired boy's personal space just enough.  
"Jet lag. You know how it is." Harry coughed, his voice dense and laced with blood and thicker things.  
"Aha. You always were hilarious." Draco chuckled.  
"Oh wait. Not really." Malfoy threw a sharp right hook and knocked a tooth out of Harry's mouth in a spray of blood.  
"And you were always so clever, Malfoy." Harry said, spitting out a mouthful of red.  
"One in your position might not want to speak as such, my friend." Draco said, his tone even. He stood back and crossed his arms, eyeing his prey.  
"You know, Potter...you're starting to look like the Boy-Who-Wasn't-Doing-So-Well."  
"What do you want?" Harry asked, breathing heavily, his voice slurred with the fluid in his mouth.  
"I like that you got directly to the point. And I think you know exactly what I want, Potter." Malfoy replied, his cold dark eyes hawk-like in their intensity.  
"And I like how you avoid the question." Harry said, struggling to stay conscious as pain threatened to bring him under once again.  
"You do know exactly what I want, Potter." Malfoy said, finally losing his composure, just enough to allow his tone to waver.  
"We have her, you know. We have all of them but one. The last one."  
Harry took this information in and pondered it for a moment. There was no way he could be certain that Malfoy was or wasn't bluffing. As he thought, a sharp pain struck the side of his head, and darkness pulled him under once more.  
The year that almost didn't happen. Harry thought to himself as he, Hermione, and Ron tossed their hats to the ceiling of the Great Hall at Hogwarts in a final salute to their now alma mater. Hagrid stood tall above the crowd, dabbing his eyes with the ever-present handkerchief, and Dumbledore held his place regally at the head of all the happenings, like Beethoven at a symphony. Finally, they were done, and they were off to the world.  
It's five years later, and we've traveled, we've lived, we've loved, and we've lost. Times have changed, and a war is brewing. Dumbledore is dead and Hagrid is gone. Nearly everyone involved in the graduation scene has chosen a side, and about half of them have already lost their lives. Ron is gone, Ginny missing, the Weasleys all either dead or underground. Harry thought of them, for about the fifteenth time in that day as he crossed the polished wood floors of the train station. The one joy in his life was waiting for him at the end of Platform 13 of Kings Cross Station, and he was heading to meet her. In a greeting reminiscent of a romance film, he swept her up into his arms, inhaling the scent of her hair, breathing her name. That night, they would make love for the first...and only...time.  
Harry awoke as a great deal of very cold water was thrown into his bloodied face, breathing out his mouth and sending it out in a spray as he blew it off his lips, and blinked it out of his eyes. His vision cleared, he finally had a chance to look at himself, and he wasn't surprised to see the damage inflicted by the blonde sadist across the room who sat cross-legged and cross-armed, smug as ever. His ribcage was a certain shade of purple that even Dumbledore's robes could never accomplish, and in places it bled, or was nearly dented where he could see (and feel) that the bones were indeed fractured. Carved into the delicate flesh of his stomach was a bloody and inflamed B, for what Harry could only guess. Seamus Finnigan's corpse had looked similar upon its delivery to Grimmauld Place, only his letter had been an H, for what else? Half-blood. Harry was happy to notice that he had retained some article of clothing, as he noted the black shreds of shorts that still covered him, to a degree. He felt pain in places he'd rather not think of, and remembered Draco pounding behind him, forcing himself inside and unrelenting while Harry screamed. Harry closed his eyes and physically turned away from the sight, then cried out in pain as his neck sent up sharp stabbing pains.  
"Ready for round two?" Malfoy drawled, caressing a wicked, black leather Cat o'Nine Tails.  
"Here we go."  
When Harry's back, and other parts of his anatomy,were sufficiently shredded and coated in garnet fluid, Malfoy at last put down his whip and stroked his bicep, flexing like a weight-lifter after over-exertion.  
"What's that, they say? 'The beatings will continue until morale improves'? Does your morale feel improved, Potter?" Malfoy sneered, wringing his hands and pacing once more. His coat trailed along behind him, a black trench coat with silver clasp fasteners that looked dated, 1800's at least. His white-blonde hair was slicked back, as he always wore it, with not a strand out of place. He wore a black silk button-down shirt, over well made Italian trousers, and shoes of Italian leather to match. Clearly, he spared no expense. Ever the aristocrat, even when it came down to torture. His Cat o'Nine Tails was even made of the finest dragon-hide.  
"You liked watching, didn't you?" Malfoy hissed to Harry's limp form. Slapping the chained man, he laughed.  
"Didn't you?!" He shrieked, his eyes blazing with an internal fire that was cold as ice.  
Harry could hardly lift his head, but he made a grunt of acknowledgment and prayed that it would be sufficient.  
Did he like it? It had nearly killed him. No matter what Malfoy did to his body, the thing that had broken Harry had been what he'd seen that night. Her screaming, their voices, the green light shining in the sky. It would haunt him, remaining behind his eyes, until the day when, he was sure, Malfoy would finally get sick of his new toy and send him straight to Hell.  
Harry's eyes fluttered as he woke just slightly, just enough to remember, to recall what the melody behind the peals of Malfoy's laughter was written about, and as soon as he did, he found himself silently praying for Malfoy to get bored fast.  
As they arrived home, Harry laughed and swept Hermione up in his arms, her squeals of delight filling the air. Traditionally, he carried her across the threshold of their home, as his father had done so many years before, for his Lily.  
This was the night Harry wished he could remember.  
Her gentle touch, her fair skin and cascading curls that fell across his chest as she lay on him, the soft cushion of her breast as he rested, exhausted from effort and exertion. The feeling of entwining together in mutual feeling, a feeling that Harry could not put a name to, but that he knew felt right, somehow.  
He clamped his eyes closed tighter, wanting to remember nothing but that night. He could feel her around him, and some part of him could smell her, somehow. Feel her warm beneath his fingertips. And then he remembered where he was.  
"I am going to ask you one more time. Where is it?" Malfoy asked, for what Harry was sure was not the last time.  
"You know, you can't continue to be a hero forever, Potter. There are others searching, and when they find it...when they find you, they will not be happy. You are in Heaven today, Potter. When He finds you, you'll be begging for Hell."  
Harry turned his face away from the source of Malfoy's voice, and erased all images from his mind. One leering face came into picture, a face with snake eyes and no nose, a cruel mouth, and a sallow pallor. The face of the one wizard he'd never, and always, feared. Voldemort.  
"You're not working for him?" Harry coughed out, asking the vague direction of Malfoy's retreating footsteps.  
"What would make you think I was working for that son of a bitch?" Malfoy asked, his tone laced with disdain and hatred.  
"Your father was...you were...a Death Eater. It says something."  
"The days of the Death Eaters are long gone. It's family versus family, and the Malfoy's are one of few with allies. Ally with Him? Never."  
"So, you're just as afraid..."  
"Not afraid, Potter! We don't cower in some pathetic cottage like certain people!"  
"Then what? If not afraid." Harry asked, spurning on the conversation, feeling bold and encouraged by receiving answers to things he'd wondered for a while.  
Malfoy thought for a moment, as if choosing his words very carefully. When he was done thinking, he said in a low, quiet drawl;  
"Cautious."  
With that, he turned and exited the room, leaving Harry alone to nothing but his pain and his thoughts.

Harry lost track of time and hardly noticed falling asleep as he dangled from the ceiling. When he woke, he was surprised to feel cold cement beneath him, and a strange, light, floaty feeling in his fatigued arms Someone had taken him down. That same someone, he noticed, had left him bandaged, and dosed him with a magical painkiller. But who?

Quiet footsteps lingered in the shadows, Harry could hear small feet tapping on the concrete floor.

"Hello?" he called out, his voice thick and hoarse, hardly sounding like his own.

"Hello." The tiny voice crept from the darkness and was music to Harry's weary ears.

The voice was soft and dreamy, lilting and melodic. Harry knew almost instantly who it was.

Luna Lovegood.

"Luna?" he croaked, straining his eyes to see her through the shadow. Her movements were slight and seemingly deliberate to keeping her in obscura.

"Shh." Luna hissed urgently, freezing in place. Luna had been at Harry's graduation, on the arm of Dean Thomas. The last time Harry had seen her was at Dean's funeral, where she buried yet another member of the once frivolous Dumbledore's Army. Dean's death, Harry had heard, had not been fast, pretty, easy, or however you would term humane. He'd lost limbs and skin, and then been raped repeatedly until the sheer loss of blood pulled him under. Luna, Harry knew, had witnessed at least part of the gore, and part of it had stuck with her, it seemed, as she slowly crept out of the darkness.

Luna's once oddly beautiful face was disfigured as if someone had split the flesh in half and played puzzle with the pieces. Her huge grey eyes sparkled from under unnaturally heavy eyelids, and her mouth had contorted into a permanent smile, giving her the appearance of a deranged circus clown. She wore clean, albeit tattered, robes, and carried a small bundle of rags. Smiling, she placed the bundle before Harry, who, knowing what he wanted it to be, seized it and began unraveling the cloths, every baited breath a silent prayer.

His face fell and twisted in revulsion as he revealed a chunk of thick, bloody tissue with a slimy fibrous cord attached.

Harry dry-heaved on the floor next to him as the metallic scent of blood his his nose like a wave.

"It's time." Luna said quietly, pulling another tiny bundle from within her robes. Harry looked at it with apprehension and worry as he contemplated what to do with it.

Then the bundle moved.

Harry took the warm bunch of cloths from Luna, almost violently in his fervor, and carefully pulled the rags away near a gap in the wrappings.

A tiny infant lay inside, swaddled in bloodied material, sleeping as if there was no care in the world.

"She's healthy?" Harry asked, thinking back to the days of name choosing; Ginevra, they had decided on, one day so many months ago.

"Yes. Sleeping nonstop, though. But she breathes." Luna replied, looking down at the child with a glance of what Harry thought to be envy, but in an instant it was gone and so was his daughter. Luna scooped the baby up and rose from her kneeling position.

"I have to go." She said. "He's coming."

Understanding her fear of Malfoy, Harry nodded and sank against the wall, hitting his head on the stones.

Malfoy stepped into the room again, seconds after Harry watched Luna's robes whip out of the light.

"I have news, Potter."

"Oh?" Harry asked, trying to behave like everything was as it had been before.

"She's dead."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"What?" Harry breathed, almost afraid to know the answer. "Dead? Who?"

"I think you know who, Potter. Tell me you're not that stupid." Malfoy replied, his face smug and cruel.

Harry thought for a moment. He knew something below Malfoy's radar, he knew of Ginny's existence. He knew that the "she" in question could not be his infant daughter, and for that he thanked Someone, whoever there was left to thank.

Harry kept his mouth shut, choosing instead to cast his eyes downward in a look of sadness and respect. If someone's dead, he thought this the most appropriate reaction, no matter who exactly it was.

"Don't you care, Potter?" Malfoy sneered.

"Of course I do." Harry said, breaking his glance to the floor.

"Well? Are you not going to cry? Plead? Beg to at least know who I've offed this time?"

"Whoever it was undoubtedly mattered to me, so it hardly matters, now does it?"

"I suppose you're right." Malfoy said, throwing something at Harry's feet. In the dim light, Harry strained to see what it was.

"Good night, Potter." Malfoy said, sweeping out of the dungeon, coat flying out behind him with his brisk pace. Harry crawled closer to the foreign object and touched it lightly, repulsed instantly. He reached again and gently stroked the soft, brown curls that lay on the cold, damp floor and began to cry.

_The door was open when he got home. Odd, but not surprising. Hermione must be home early. Harry thought to himself, thinking nothing of the silence or darkness of the house as he locked his car and strolled up the front walk, humming a song from the radio. The chorus swelled in his head as he pushed the door further open and heard noises coming from upstairs. He saw a bouquet of flowers on the sideboard of the kitchen, left in the sink, scissors on the draining board, as if someone had been interrupted in the middle of preparing them. The sounds getting increasingly loud upstairs alerted him to the fact that someone very well might have. Drawing his wand from inside his jacket, Harry set down his case and crossed to the stairs hurriedly. Taking the steps two at a time, he prayed silently to whoever would listen that Hermione was alright. Arriving at the top of the stairs, his faith drained from his mind._

_Three men stood around the bed, where Hermione lay bound. Her wrists were tied together and to the cherrywood headboard that had been given to them by Molly Weasley shortly before her disappearance. Her legs were spread and ankles tied, each to a footpost with thick rope that appeared to be magically affected. A small pile of fabric lay nearby, Harry assumed that was Hermione's clothing, as she was sorely lacking such effects. Two men stood to the side, one on the left, one on the right, and the smaller, slighter man stood in the middle, wearing a heavy coat with silver buttons and pointed lapels._

_"Malfoy." Harry said, his voice shaking with fear._

_"Ah, yes. Honey, you're home!" He said, gesturing to Crabbe and Goyle, who flanked him. Immediately, the two large men moved towards Harry and dragged him towards a corner of the room, binding and gagging him much in the way of his wife. "At last, we can begin."_

_Malfoy approached the bed and swiftly removed his coat, letting it fall to the floor like a snake shedding its skin. He looked at Hermione as she lay, naked, helpless, and screaming on the bed and smiled. Unzipping his pants, he went to work, laughing and enjoying every minute of it._

_Harry watched as Malfoy straddled his wife, forcing his way into her with a power that caused her to buck and squirm, screaming through the gag they'd tied across her jaw. His old enemy pounded into his love relentlessly, getting harder and faster as he went, and laughing. The laughing. The high, clear sound for a man, a contralto tone that rung out like bells and would be rather infectious in any other circumstance. Hermione could not drown him out, no matter how loudly she wailed, and so Harry's ears were assailed by both sounds, melding into a twisted cocktail in his mind. He could see as Malfoy came, that look of relief and pleasure that crossed his nemesis' pale, pointed face, and he threw up on the floor as he finally heard nothing but Hermione's wailing and the blood of rage pounding in his own ears. Crabbe and Goyle had held him still the entire time, and kept him gagged. He knew all along that resistance was futile, and that trying would only make things worse for him, and if possible, for Hermione._

_Malfoy smiled and stood, still hard and glistening. Something was wrong with the sheen of him, however, and Harry was sickened to notice that he shone like a ruby, coated as he was with a thin layer of blood. _

_"You're disgusting." Malfoy said, eyeing the pile of vomit that stewed on the floor. "Bring him here." _

_Crabbe and Goyle dragged Harry over to their master, his feet limp underneath him as he refused to aid them in any way. He screamed behind his gag, sending out curses and hexes, hoping one would work without the wand, but alas, no such luck._

_"Turn around, Potter." _

_Harry found himself standing alone, all of a sudden, and attempted to turn around, falling flat on the floor._

_"Pathetic." Malfoy said, kicking him with one booted foot. Crabbe and Goyle descended upon Harry, and pulled the shirt off his back and pants off his legs, careful not to leave even the shorts that covered his ass. Harry found himself completely naked, bound, and at the will of his captor. In his own home. Above him on the bed, he could hear Hermione still sobbing, her tears choked and thick behind the fabric stuffed into her mouth. He felt Malfoy straddle his back and seat himself gently on his ass, and as he did this, Harry felt certain parts of Draco's anatomy touching him that he really would rather never encounter so personally. He felt a sharp digging into his back, as Draco stroked him deeply with a small athame and then pushed down._

_Harry let out a strangled yell as he felt the blade glide into his flesh, and carve neat lines and curves through the pale flesh. He could feel the blood flowing down his back and sides as he cried out, tangled shouts of twisted pain and rage. Malfoy, satisfied with his work, stood and admired it, then dragged Harry to his knees, still keeping the black haired man's back to him. Gripping his ass, Malfoy shoved the length of him inside Harry, forcing his way as he went, and tearing flesh to make himself fit. Crying out, Harry bent over at the waist and sucked in air sharply, the pain forcing him to double over and stealing his breath. Malfoy pounded away at his back as the blood flowed in thick, red rivulets down his torso, and when the blonde finally finished, he stood, zipped his black leather pants, and said:_

_"Take them."_

Footsteps rousted Harry from his nightmarish reverie and caused him to snap his head up and search frantically in their direction. He knew not to make a sound, not to call out a name, because doing so could risk everything. Please, he begged silently, please don't let it be Malfoy.

And it wasn't.

Out of the shadows crept Luna, without a bundle this time, but as welcome a presence to Harry with or without. She carried, however, a small towel, soaked in water and wrung, and her wand.

"Hello, Harry." She said, dabbing at the wounds on his face. Luna washed his face quietly until she finished, and then said only;

"Can you turn?"

Harry did as he was asked, and winced as he heard Luna's small gasp. A hand clapped over her mouth as she sharply inhaled, he heard, but it didn't matter. He knew that a nightmare of gashes decorated the pure ivory of his flesh, he could feel it, but thankfully, he would not see it.

"What has he done?" Luna said, her voice simply tinged with surprise and bewilderment.

"So much. So, so much." Harry said, his voice starting to break. He couldn't take this being nice to him. Beat him, tear him, break him, he didn't care, but care for him? Love him? How could he be cared for when he'd let her be hurt so badly, and now that he'd let her die…

"I know." Luna said, simply, as she gently cleaned the torn skin.

After a while, the towel became rendered useless as it had turned the scarlet of Fawkes the phoenix. Luna set it down and looked to Harry.

"He wasn't lying, Harry." She said softly.

"Hm?" Harry asked, preoccupied and dissociating to the point of not paying attention.

"Hermione. I saw her, with my own eyes." Luna turned those bright, clear, gray eyes downward and dropped the volume of her tone.

"You did? How did she…" He asked, trailing off. There was no point in finishing the sentence. Any way it could have gone, his voice would not have lasted long enough to say it.

"Was it quick?" Harry finally asked, his voice shy and resigned. Did he want to know the answer to this question? He wasn't even sure.

Luna simply shook her head and looked at him with sad eyes. Harry screamed. A powerful scream that reverberated within his ribcage and echoed off his heart, ricocheting from his lungs. A scream that carried through the dungeon, ringing in every corner, echoing on every stone. A scream that seemed never to end, until he doubled over, breathless and spent, his body an empty husk for the Boy-Who-Had-Once-Lived to reside within. Now, that is all he was. He had failed her. She was gone, and he had become nothing. No one. He curled quietly into a ball on the floor and began to weep silently. All Luna could do was to watch and keep her distance, until after fifteen minutes, she had a change of heart.

"Snap out of it." She said, her voice coming a little stronger, more angry than it had before.

"Excuse me?" Harry said, wiping his eyes, surprised at her blatant boldness.

"I said, snap out of it. Yes, you lost Hermione, but are you forgetting your child?" Luna asked, now speaking in a tone of annoyance.

"What is to happen to her?" Harry asked, hoping for any answer other than the one he expected.

"Malfoy will raise her."

That was the one answer Harry did not, could not, WOULD not listen to.

"Can you help me?" He asked Luna, looking at her desperately.

"I thought you'd never ask." She smiled, and to anyone else observing, the hint of mischief in her eye might have been cause for concern, but all Harry could see was red. And his child. And Malfoy's death, just how sweet it would be.


End file.
